


Jilted Granger

by TheLadyFair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breakup, F/M, Fluffy, Group Marriage, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Jilted, Love, Lumione - Freeform, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Multi - Freeform, OOC, Open Marriage, Polygamy, Revenge, Romance, Ron Weasley Bashing, dramione - Freeform, sevmione - Freeform, snamione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 00:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15569496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFair/pseuds/TheLadyFair
Summary: When a marriage law finally prompts Ron to propose to his girlfriend of ten years, she expected more than a "I s'pose we'll have to get on with it then." Enraged, the pair argue and Hermione sets out to prove Ron wrong - she can find a wizard or five to marry her before the end of the month.





	Jilted Granger

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to make it clear that this fic contains: HG/Multi, HG/SS/LM/DM/RL/KS, bit of ron-bashing, open marriage (not our main group)  
> Oh, and it's definitely fluffier than a Pomeranian on show day.

Hermione Granger had spent the better part of the last ten years dreaming about the day Ronald Weasley would propose to her. He wasn’t a truly romantic sort, and she was a rather practical witch, so she’d always kept her expectations reasonable. An evening walk about the quidditch pitch. Perhaps he’d unexpectedly pop the question while they snuggled together on the couch in 12 Grimmauld Place, watching an old muggle film. Possibly he’d ask Ginny and find out Hermione’s favorite restaurant, whisk her off unexpectedly and be too nervous to wait until dessert, proposing with a mouthful of breadsticks and his trademark silly grin. 

As reigned in as she’d thought her imagination had been, Hermione was not prepared for the man she’d dated for ten years to walk into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, drop a copy of the Daily Prophet into her cereal and say, “I s’pose we’ll have to get on with it then.”

“Get on with what, exactly?” Hermione asked, preoccupied with digging the now-soggy paper out of her bowl and wondering if she could still get away with finishing the last few bites.

Probably not, she figured. Merlin only knew where the owl who’d dropped the paper off had been. The headline caught her eye as she pushed her cereal away: MINISTRY TO MANDATE MARRIAGES. 

“Getting married,” Ron answered, unaware of the way his girlfriend flinched at the words. “We’ll just pop over to the Ministry tomorrow on my day off and be done with it.”

Blood boiling at the absolute blasé way Ron was approaching the subject of matrimony, Hermione could hardly find it in her to be angry with the Ministry. Everyone had been speculating that something like this would happen so it wasn’t exactly surprising. After an unexpectedly violent bout of the Dragon Pox had decimated the already low population of witches in Britain, even Kingsley couldn’t stop the Ministry from meddling. Hermione had even wondered if the marriage law would be the catalyst for Ron to finally propose. 

But surely she at least deserved the common courtesy of being asked? 

She scanned the article, steadfastly ignoring Ron as he dove into his own bowl of cereal. Even as a young girl she’d known Ron was insensitive but this… Hermione chewed the inside of her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.  _ This  _ was certainly not an acceptable proposal. 

INCENTIVES FOR WITCHES– the subtitle drew Hermione’s gaze and she flipped to page six to read all about how the Ministry planned to overcome the population difference between wizards and witches. Chuckling darkly as she read just how many galleons the Ministry was willing to fork out per husband, Hermione decided it was high time she gave her boyfriend a dose of his own medicine. Maybe if she met his insensitivity with her own, he’d figure out she needed a little more than a “s’pose we’ll have to get one with it” to convince her to marry him.

“How many husbands do you think you could share me with?” she asked, casting a shield charm with a flick of her wand.

Half-masticated cereal splattered against her well-timed spell and Ron turned redder than the Christmas sweaters his mum still knit him. “What the bloody hell?” he spluttered.

Hermione pushed the sodden Prophet across the table so Ron could see the extra headline she’d discovered. “Well, you have been going on about getting our own place. With the incentives the Ministry is offering, I figured if we could find four, maybe five other guys willing to marry me we could easily purchase a lovely manor for all of us to live in.”

Ron’s lip curled and he shoved his cereal bowl and the Prophet back towards her. “You want to whore yourself out for a house?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione could hear her voice getting higher, could feel her cheeks blushing with fury, but she could do nothing to stop it from happening. Ron always knew exactly what to say, and how to say it, to catapult her from rational to veela-level pissed. “It’s not whoring myself out if I’m married. And you should know better than I do,  _ Ronald _ , that having multiple spouses, while rare, is perfectly acceptable in the magical world.”

Ron stood up, towering over the breakfast table with an ugly look on his face. “Even if you could find another wizard who would want you, I will not share! You’re mine, Hermione.”

“I am not a piece of property!” Hermione yelled back, standing so they were face-to-face. Of all the idiotic things he could say in this moment, insulting her attractiveness was the least of them. Honestly, after fifteen years as his friend, Hermione had gotten almost used to it. But implying she could be owned like some kind of… some kind of owl or familiar. Hermione could feel her magic crackling in her halo of curls. 

“You. Don’t. Own. Me. Ronald Weasley,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “And quite frankly I’m not sure I want to marry you anymore.”

Having the audacity to look smug, Ron folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. Actually, he raised both of them, never having mastered the art of raising just one. “Go ahead then.”

“Go ahead and what?” Hermione asked, feeling slightly deflated but not yet willing to show it.

“You’ve got a month to find another wizard,” he smirked. “Or wizards, to marry you before the Ministry picks your spouse. I’ll be waiting for you to apologize once you realize no one else will have you. Then we can get married like I said before you got all uppity and shite.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what came over her but instead of hexing Ron’s balls off, she grabbed the soggy paper, tossed her hair over her shoulders and smirked back at the bloody bastard. “I’d rather marry a ministry-appointed husband over you anyday. But I won’t have to because I can easily find a handful of wizards to marry me before the end of the month.”

“You think so?” Ron growled.

Eyes narrowed, Hermione responded. “I know so!”

Secretly, Hermione figured she could probably find a wizard or five who would not only marry her, but would probably have the wits about them to actually propose to her. With that thought she turned on her heel and left Ron to his ruined breakfast. Stomping out of a room had never felt so good.

* * *

Twelve hours later she was not feeling so positive. Curled up on the couch in Lavender and Dean’s flat, Hermione scooped a pile of melted ice cream into her mouth and stared blankly at the television. The images didn’t even register, she was too busy realizing that in the ten years since the war she hadn’t looked at anyone other than Ron in a romantic light. She wasn’t even sure how many of the boys and men she’d once known were still single. And, even if they were, how to go about wooing them into marriage. In less than a month!

Just as she was realizing that Ron was probably right, a ragged sob tugged itself out of her. Lavender and Dean immediately settled onto the worn cushions either side of her. The former pulled Hermione’s head to her breast while the latter carefully removed the bowl of ice cream from her lap and replaced it with his head. 

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Lavender cooed, stroking her curls. 

“You’re fine, doll,” Dean said from his place upon her lap.“Ron is a bloody stupid git.”

“Who wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit him in the face with a bludger,” Lavender agreed. “ _ We’d _ marry you.”

“In a heartbeat, love,” Dean added, pouting up at her. “And it’d be one hell of a proposal, I promise.”

If someone had told her twelve years ago that Lavender Brown and Dean Thomas would wind up in a _very_ _open_ marriage, constantly on the hunt for new people to bring into their relationship, Hermione would have been shocked but, perhaps, not altogether surprised. Had that same someone told her that the duo would become her closest friends and confidants she would have scoffed and sent them off to St Mungos. Now, though, she was just glad to have them in her life and she snuggled closer to Lavender’s ample bosom and absentmindedly stroked Dean’s hair.

“I wish I could marry you both,” she said, sniffling.

Dean smiled and Lavender patted her arm. “We know,” they said together.

“But you’re not into me,” Lavender said.

“And you wouldn’t like what I’m into.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows to make his point and Hermione bit back a smile.

“But,” Lavender pulled away and waved her wand at the desk in the corner of the room. “We know exactly how to help you find some wizards to marry.”

“You do?” Hermione asked, embarrassed by how needy she sounded.

Dean thumbed the tears off her cheeks and nodded. “Absolutely.”

A pad of paper and a pen came soaring towards them and Lavender deftly snatched them out of the air as Dean pulled himself out of Hermione’s lap. The duo kissed her on each cheek, their breath warm against her skin. For half a moment Hermione seriously considered just marrying them. All three of them got along wonderfully and she couldn’t think of anyone else she’d be as comfortable with. But she also knew that Lavender and Dean were right. As lovely as Lavender was, Hermione had no interest in her sexually. And from the stories she’d heard–and there were a lot of them–she didn’t think she could share Dean with the men he liked to bring home, let alone his wife’s girlfriends. Hermione sighed as they pulled away. Oh well. 

“We’ll make a list, narrow down the candidates and outline your seduction of each of them,” Lavender assured her. “All you have to do is show up and follow the script.”

It all seemed very practical and simple to Hermione. “Now why didn’t I think of that?” she asked.

Dean bumped shoulders with her. “Cause you’ve been spending too much time with the pair of us. We’ve turned you into an emotional beast.”

Snorting, Hermione reached for the almost empty bowl of ice cream as Lavender and Dean began spouting out names of every unattached male they knew. Lavender dutifully scribbled each one down on the paper. Hermione just blinked down at the ever-expanding list of names and spooned melty ice cream into her mouth. 

“Neville.”

“Seamus.”

“Colin.”

“Goyle.”

“Nooo,” Hermione moaned, covering her face as Lavender dutifully added Goyle to the list.

“Zabini.”

“Draco.”

“Flitwick.”

“Gross, don’t write him down!”

“Ooh, Sirius,” Dean said with another eyebrow wiggle.

“Kingsley,” Lavender added.

“Lucius Malfoy.”

“Hey,” Hermione interjected. Things were getting ridiculous. No Malfoy would ever want her.

“Shhh,” Dean told her, pressing a finger to her lips. “We’re helping you. George?”

Lavender nodded. “Yes! Snape?”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at Snape’s name. Two pairs of eyes turned on her. Lavender’s smile was practically predatory and Dean’s eyebrows looked like a pair of worms dancing the foxtrot.

“ _ Really _ ?” Lavender asked.

Blushing, Hermione nodded and stared down into her bowl of what was now ice cream soup. 

“Since when?” Dean rested his chin on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Third year,” she squeaked. “He… Well, he saved us from a werewolf.”

“Lupin?”

Hermione nodded.

“Oh, he should go on the list, too.”

Dean, however, had questions. “What do you like about him?”

“Lupin?” Hermione asked.

“No, Snape.”

“Oh.” Oh, indeed! Hermione lightly fanned herself as she thought back to the first time she’d really noticed Snape as anything other than their mean potions professor. She couldn’t really put into words the attraction that had simmered under the surface for a decade and a half. Just that it started after he willingly stepped in front of Lupin to protect them and grew as she started paying attention to him over the years.  “He’s just so… meticulous. Intent, intense. Did you know he practically rewrote the potions textbook when he was in school? Just found better ways of doing basically everything. Harry had his book one year. And did you ever see his library?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Trust you to be turned on by someone’s library.”

“Hey, you asked,” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. “But it’s not the books, well, not mostly, it’s what they represent. He owns dozens of advanced studies on every subject. If you look past the snark and sarcasm, you can see how brilliant he really is. He’s a fount of information….”

Hermione’s voice drifted off and her eyes glazed over as she thought about just how lovely it would be to have a conversation with Snape. A real one, not the kind where he berated her until she cried but one where they talked of any and every subject known to mankind. For hours on end. She sighed.

“Well, Snape’s making the final cut,” Lavender said, marking a star down next to his name. “Now who else do you want to marry?”

The remaining names on the list were all so familiar to Hermione but they also seemed very foreign. Beyond Neville and the Weasleys, she hadn’t interacted with anyone on the list in nearly a decade. She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I hardly know any of them anymore.”

“What if we start by eliminating people?” Dean suggested. “Who could you absolutely not marry?”

Hermione nodded. That question was easier to answer. “Neville. I love him too much to make him live with me. And I’d always feel like I was looking over his shoulder to correct his work.”

Lavender dutifully crossed his name out. Suddenly it was very easy for Hermione to look at the list and cut people out. 

“Colin,” she said. “Too young. And Goyle… too big” 

Dean giggled at that comment and Lavender reached across Hermione to swat him into behaving.

“George can go–too close to Ron.”

“Good point,” Lavender said as she scratched the last couple of names off the list. 

“I told you not to put Flitwick down,” Hermione said.

“I thought you’d appreciate his brain,” Lavender pouted.

“Just no!” Hermione reread the remaining names–Seamus, Zabini, Draco, Sirius, Kingsley, Lucius, Snape & Lupin. “I don’t even remember what Zabini looks like.”

“Hmmm, he’s lovely,” Lavender purred. “Remember Zabini, Dean? The things that man did to us–”

“Ew!” Hermione yanked the pen away from Lavender and crossed Zabini’s name out with a vengeance. “No offense, guys, but I don’t want to compete with someone’s memories of you two.”

“Best take Seamus off too, then,” Dean said, commandeering the pen for himself and removing Seamus  _ and _ Sirius from the list.

“No?” Hermione gasped. “You’re kidding me.”

Dean’s smile was entirely too self-satisfied and Hermione covered her face with her hands. She did not want to think of Harry’s godfather in  _ that _ way. She figured it was probably for the best Sirius’ past with Dean and Lavender had eliminated him. If she couldn’t imagine him sexually, what chance did a marriage with the man have? 

She kept her eyes covered as she asked, “Who does that leave?”

“The lucky five,” Dean said triumphantly.

“Draco, Kingsley, Lucius, Snape and Lupin,” Lavender clarified. 

“Both Malfoys?” Hermione said.

“Hmmmm,” Lavender agreed. “Though you sound less upset about that then I thought you would be.”

“Thrmathrprmmy,” Hermione mumbled.

“What?” Dean pulled Hermione’s hands off her face, revealing the bright red blush that heated it.

“They’re rather pretty,” she enunciated.

Lavender snorted and slapped Hermione’s knee. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s plot the seduction.”

“Oh Merlin,” Hermione moaned, burying her face in her hands once again as Dean rubbed his hands together like a movie villain.

“Oh yes,” he said.

* * *

Hermione sat alone on the park bench, a yellow rose being worried between the hands in her lap as she tried to simultaneously watch for the dark head of her former potions professor and stare a hole through the ground in front of her. Staring at the ground won out when she realized she was jerking her head around like she was having some kind of mad seizure and  _ that _ was not the impression she wanted to make on a man she hadn’t seen in ten years.

Dean and Lavender had plotted out the entire seduction. Step one: send the note via an anonymous post owl asking Snape–or should she call him Severus now?–to meet a women carrying a yellow rose at this specific park at this specific time. Then they’d shopped high and low for the perfect outfit–a lovely blue sundress Hermione hated that she loved–and made sure she didn’t overdo the beauty charms. The goal of step two was to get him to willingly court her not, as Lavender put it, to sell the milk without the cow. 

Hermione twirled the stem of the flower again, watching the yellow blossoms catch on the texture of her dress as it rolled over. What would he think? She knew he was caught up in this law too, so hopefully he’d be expecting something like this. But would he be mad? At the law or that it was her?

Her stomach clenched at the thought and she rotated the flower the opposite direction. A single petal folded over on itself as she wondered just how she had let Dean and Lavender talk her into this. Why hadn’t they started with Lupin or Draco? Someone she wasn’t already half in love with… Hermione pinched the folded petal and plucked it from the rose, bruising it between her fingers.

“It would be hard to tell what color rose that is if you pull all the petals out.”

Hermione slapped a hand over her mouth to hold in her shriek at the baritone voice that all but whispered those words in her ear. Turning around, she stared wide-eyed at Severus Snape. He looked–Hermione swallowed hard as she took in the pulled back hair, dark blue jumper and dark wash jeans–very nice. She met his gaze and melted a little at the memories those black eyes brought up before she noticed the laugh lines in their corners. 

The Severus Snape she knew didn’t laugh.

But this one did. Clearly ten years had changed the man. Chuckling in that low timbre of his, he plucked her hand from her mouth, kissed the back of it and smiled at her.

“This is a pleasant surprise, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded, wondering mutely where her voice had disappeared to. As Snape rounded the bench to sit down next to her, she returned his smile with one of her own.

“Hello,” she said when she finally found her voice exactly where she had left it.

“Hello,” he responded, plumbing the depths of his vocal range. “Am I correct in assuming this meeting is about the marriage law?”

She nodded again. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed. “So you finally realized what an oaf the Weasel is.”

“Oaf, ass, what’s the difference?” Hermione asked, hating the way her heart ached at any mention of Ron. He was an ass, but he’d been her ass.

Leaning forward, Snape brushed a stray curl behind her ear, his hand lingering next to her face. “I always knew you were a smart girl. You’re better than him.”

“T-thank you.”

Snape nodded his welcome. “So just how many others would you expect me to share you with?”

Hermione blinked up at him, too lost in the sensations of his thumb rubbing her cheek to realize he’d asked a question. As he waited, he arched one lovely eyebrow–just one. When her mind caught up with what she’d heard, Hermione blushed. How was she supposed to answer that question? 

Things were going much faster than Dean or Lavender had planned. This meeting was supposed to be about convincing Snape–Severus?–to court her. She hadn’t studied the notes on what she was supposed to say and do once they got to the point of actually talking about the marriage law. According to “The Plan” that was a week away, at least!

Honesty, she decided as Snape’s eyebrow climbed higher on his forehead. Since she hadn’t studied the plan, she’d go for honesty. At the very least he’d expect it from a Gryffindor like herself.

“Four others. Lucius, Draco, Lupin and Kingsley.”

“Hmmmm.” Hermione felt the sound travel all the way through her. “But you wrote to me first.”

While she nodded, Snape closed the distance between them. He brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. Immediately Hermione ceased her nodding and froze. Snape held her gaze as he turned her face towards his, soft dry lips sliding across her own before they settled with a firm, delightful pressure. Only when her eyes drifted closed did he taste the seam of her lips with his tongue, inviting her to deepen the kiss if she so wished.

And she did. A coil of heat unravelled in her belly and Hermione opened up to him, humming as he dipped in to taste her mouth before teasing her tongue out to taste his. For several moments they sat there, oblivious to the world that continued to spin around them as they explored and tasted and nipped their way through their first kiss. 

When Severus pulled away, Hermione sighed and opened her eyes. “May I call you Severus?”

That half-smile reappeared and Hermione felt her heart roll over in her chest like a dog looking for a belly rub. If she was this besotted after one kiss, that could only mean good things for their future, right?

“I think that would be more than appropriate,” he murmured, gaze drifting back down to her lips. “Hermione.”

Her name in his voice was lovely. The breathy sound of pleasure that escaped her lips was somewhere between a gasp and a sigh but Hermione figured it must have been the right response when Severus bent his head to kiss her one more time. 

He pulled away more quickly this time, stroking his thumb down her cheek before settling back against the bench. Hermione found his arm around her and leaned into him ever so slightly. Pressing her closer against his side, Severus made that humming sound in the back of his throat that Hermione was coming to love and pressed a kiss against her curls.

“Draco and Lucius will be easy,” he said. “We’ll have to snag Kingsley first, and Lupin so the wolf doesn’t think he’s your last choice. Then we can call it a political ploy and make the Malfoys believe they thought of it themselves.”

Hermione gulped. That wasn’t quite what Lavender and Dean had planned but she could see how it was better. Still…. She felt as though she was swimming in deep water when she’d only learned the doggy paddle. 

“You’re okay with this?” Hermione asked.

“Which part?”

“All of it,” Hermione said, then clarified. “Sharing me.”

Severus squeezed her shoulder. “I’m caught under this law too, Hermione. Perhaps in the past I would have railed and raged against it but now...” he shrugged. “I am tired of fighting. Tired of being alone. And I am honored that you chose me. I would rather share _ you _ , even with the werewolf, than take my chances with the dozens of lesser witches the ministry could try and match me with. At least with you as my wife I know I’ll never be bored.”

Hermione sniffled, her eyes suspiciously misty. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You wouldn’t prefer I wax poetic about your beauty?” he asked, pulling her closer until she had no choice but to lay her head on his chest.

She chuckled and rubbed her cheek against the soft material of his jumper. “That would be nice, too, but I would rather you be honest than a flatterer. I know I’m no belle of the ball.”

“You’re  _ my _ belle of the ball,” Severus said with finality. Then, after a moment. “And Weasley is an infantile sod who couldn’t tell a lovely woman from a lamp post.”

Hermione sighed and snuggled contentedly closer. Somehow this man knew all the right things to say. “I may have to publicly support this marriage law seeing how it’s the reason I finally realized that.”

“That I like you or that Weasley’s a sod?”

Hermione smiled. “Both.”

“Hmmmm.”

* * *

Hermione was bent over an ancient text, trying to decipher exactly which rune she was looking at and how it would apply to the arithmantic equation she was trying to recreate when an urgent message flew into her office. Snatching the red-colored paper airplane out of the air, Hermione began standing even before she’d read the message. In the Department of Mysteries a red message could mean anything from “Marito’s burritos in the breakroom” to “You have ten seconds to evacuate before poisonous gas leaks through the ventilation system”. Either way, Hermione had learned it was best to start moving before reading any red messages. 

The words on it, however, caused her to freeze mid-way to the door.

_ We have a problem with the Malfoys. Come immediately. _

There was no signature but there didn’t need to be. Hermione would recognize the spiky script anywhere. It was Severus. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as her brain rapidly categorized every possible variant of a “problem” and ran through them in excruciating detail. Almost all of them contained some mutation of Lucius and/or Draco backing out of their agreement to court her, killing her other future spouses in a jealous/political agenda induced rage and/or dying some painful, horrible death. By the time her brain began conjuring the image of rabid peacocks devouring the still-living bodies of her future spouses with Severus holding them off only long enough to send his message, Hermione had begun moving again and made a mad dash to the elevators. 

One too-long ride where she spent half her time holding back desperate sobs–Dean was right, she was an emotional beast–and the other half transfiguring her sensible heels into top-notch running shoes brought Hermione to the lobby of the Ministry of Magic and she raced across the polished floors faster than Krum on the trail of a Snitch. She took the street exit and apparated before she was fully above ground, landing with a pop loud enough to emasculate muggle fireworks. Wasting no time in pushing through the gates, Hermione ran up the long, winding drive to the Manor.

Halfway there she was beginning to get well and truly worried. Surely someone should have come out to greet her and assuage her fears by now? Severus or a house elf or one of the Malfoys themselves. But no one showed up. Even the bloody peacocks Lucius was so proud of were nowhere to be seen. Hermione’s fears escalated as she knocked on the front doors of the manor house only to find them already unlocked. They swung open at her touch, no house elf to greet her.

Hermione reached for her wand, her body reacting with battle instincts before her eyes fully grasped the scene in front of her. When her brain finally caught up with her eyes, Hermione gasped and her wand clattered to the floor.

The entire entrance hall of Malfoy Manor was filled with yellow roses.

Of all the problems she had thought up, this was not one of them. 

Vases of the beautiful flowers were perched on every surface and trains of roses were wrapped around the bannisters and wainscoting like Christmas tinsel. Yellow petals were scattered across the black marble floors, drawing Hermione forward as they trailed towards the stairs. Her heart thudding like a bass drum in her chest, Hermione followed the rose petals up the stairs and down the hall to the East wing. The trail stopped at a half-closed set of double doors that was flanked by two more vases of flowers.

Hermione gasped when she pushed the door open, one hand flying to her lips as the other fluttered around her chest. She was in the Malfoy library. Undoubtedly her favorite room in the entire manor, this time it wasn’t the books that captured her attention but the stunning wedding gown hanging on a coat rack not ten feet in front of her. 

“You’ve discovered our problem.” 

Severus’ velvet voice sent shivers down her spine and Hermione whirled around to face him. Only it wasn’t just Severus standing behind her. All five of her men, dressed in nearly matching tuxes with yellow rose boutonnieres, stood in front of her, their expressions hopeful. 

“What problem is that?” Hermione managed to ask. 

Severus, standing in the middle, was obviously the spokesperson for the group. He gestured to the dress behind her. “We’re all dressed up for a wedding but there’s no bride to be found,” he said in the same voice he used to give potions instructions in.

Hermione’s heart stuttered–was this really happening?–and she whispered, “Is that so?”

Severus nodded solemnly. “We were hoping  _ you  _ might consent to marry us.”

“All of you?” Hermione breathed, before realizing how silly that sounded.

Lucius and Draco smirked while Remus and Kingsley both winked at her. Severus simply tilted the corner of his lips up into that irritatingly sexy half smile of his. 

“Of course,” he said.

Hermione felt as if the world had stopped just for this moment in time. Wasn’t it only three weeks ago she’d broken off a ten year relationship because Ron couldn’t wake his brain up long enough to actually propose to her? How had she gone from that to this–standing in front of five wonderful, beautiful men who had all consented to marry her, share her, who now had the decency not only to ask like civilized human beings but to do so in a way that made butterflies flutter in her chest and heat pool in her belly.

She blinked back tears and beamed at them. “Of course,” she responded. 

“You’re supposed to say yes,” Draco stage-whispered.

Hermione laughed and did as she was bade. “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll marry you. You silly men, yes!”

“Today?” Severus asked before she could get too caught up in her excitement.

“Yes,” Hermione said.

As one, the men stepped forward. They enveloped her in a hug that was full of arms and strong chests and clean-shaven chins, brushing kisses everywhere their lips could touch as they expressed their joy at her acceptance. Hermione basked in their attention and sought to kiss each man soundly on the lips before they withdrew. Which they inevitably did as if on some invisible signal, stepping back and straightening their lovely charcoal jackets. 

“We thought you might like some help getting ready,” Severus said when they were all set to rights again.

Lavender Brown-Thomas and Minerva McGonagall stepped out of the door behind Hermione and, after another round of hugs and kisses and happy noises, the men disappeared and a whirlwind of preparation began. While the women pampered Hermione with a bath, salt scrubs, lotions, beauty spells and a million and one different things to get her ruckus of curls into something tamed that made her hair look perfectly, purposefully untamed, Lavender and Minerva told Hermione about everything her men had done for her. Lavender gushed about the flowers and the decor while Minerva dredged up the past, going on and on about everything from how Severus deserved to finally find love to how one would have never guessed from Kingsley’s NEWT scores that he would be such a good Minister of Magic. Hermione drank it all in, the healing of her heart that had started with Severus’ kind words only weeks before completing as Lavender levitated the dress over her head. 

Arms raised up, Hermione closed her eyes as the silken material settled around her, held her breath as Minerva did up the hundred of little buttons marching along her spine, and finally gasped when her former professor announced the chore done and they all realized the dress fit Hermione perfectly. It wasn’t until Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that she let out a soft hum of satisfaction, though. The dress not only fit perfectly, it was perfect.

The rest of the day went by in a whirl of activity and joy. When Hermione was walked down the aisle by none other than Dean Thomas, just how much effort her men had put into making this day special for her finally sank in. All of her family and friends–including a few of the muggles she maintained contact with since her parents’ deaths–were present for the wedding, Ronald Weasley being excluded from both the friend and family lists for obvious reasons. The ceremony was short but poignant and Hermione had to stifle a laugh when she teared up and not one but five perfectly pressed handkerchiefs were thrust in her direction. Even the ring was perfect–white gold with one large yellow diamond and four small white ones in the shape of a rose and leaves.

After the binding, they retired to a tent for the reception where Hermione danced with each of her husbands and was fed cake and tea and champagne until her head was as light as her heart. Hours after the music had died down, Hermione stood at the entrance to the tent and said goodbye to the last of her guests. Appropriately it was Dean and Lavender. As she waved them off, a warm, hard body pressed against her back and long fingers stroked the hair away from her neck.

Lips whispered against the sensitive skin behind her ear, “Did we do alright, Mrs. Granger?”

Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into Severus. “You did perfect, love. All of you are perfect.”

“Hmmmm.” Hermione felt the sound all the way through her body and she wondered if Severus knew what it did to her. His voice stroked the shell of her ear, making her shiver. “All that’s left is to whisk you away for an evening of some well deserved debauchment.”

Later, Hermione would reflect that the debauchment was not only well deserved, but an utter delight. 

* * *

Ronald Weasley had spent the better part of the last month dreaming about the day Hermione would apologize to him. She was always such a know-it-all, and he had never been able to train it out of her, but he was certain that this time she'd be the one eating crow. He grinned into his breakfast as he thought about how humiliated she'd be when she found out he was right–no other wizard would ever want her. And how scared she’d be when he threatened to marry another witch instead of her. Not that there was another witch, but she didn’t need to know that.

Halfway through a particularly titillating daydream about Hermione throwing herself at his feet to grovel, Ronald was shocked when the real Hermione strolled into the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place and dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet into his cereal. 

"I suppose you'll have to get on with it, then," she said.

Ron tossed the newspaper out of his cereal, stuffed a spoonful of food into his mouth and glowered at her. "Ged on wiff whad?” He asked while chewing.

"Getting married," Hermione said, seemingly unaware of the glee that flitted across Ron's face at her words. 

"So you've finally got the right of it, then," he said as he scooped up another spoonful of cereal to stuff in his face. Who cared that the paper had been in it for a few seconds? Food was food.

Hermione nodded and rearranged the newspaper in front of him. Ron swallowed his mouthful of food and dragged the paper towards him, wondering if he could make her feel guilty enough to marry him immediately. There were, after all, only three days left until their month was up and  _ he _ wasn't willing to chance it with a ministry-appointed witch. Deciding to ignore Hermione for a moment, to make her really feel the consequences of her actions, Ron pulled the newspaper closer to read it.

"What the hell?" He spluttered, looking at the photo dominating the front page. Hermione, dressed in a wedding gown, was waving happily up at him from her place in the middle of five very familiar wizards. Severus Snape, the slimy git, stood behind Hermione with a look that could only be described as possessive on his face. To either side of her stood Draco and Lucius Malfoy and in front of her, with one of her hands on each of their shoulders, was sat Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Ron could feel his face turning purple. “Seriously, Mione, what in the bloody hell?”

Hermione snagged the paper out of his hands and smiled down at the picture of herself. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about, Ronald. You didn’t want to share me and now you don’t have to.”

Ron stood up, forgetting himself in his anger, and leaned over the table until he was face-to-face with Hermione. He was just about to rip her a new one when he noticed the spark of humor in her eyes. He chuckled darkly.

“Oh, very funny, Mione. This is all a big joke, isn’t it?” He said, planting his hands on the table as she raised an eyebrow–just one, how in the hell did she do that?–at him. “You paid these guys or something to pose in a picture with you to make me jealous. Well it won’t work. You’re the one who walked away, so you’re the one who has to ask me to marry you.”

He stood back up, crossing his arms over his chest with a smug look of superiority on his face. Hermione blinked at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Ron puffed out his chest at the well deserved apology. 

“Yes, well you shou–” he started.

“I can’t marry you,” she interrupted. 

“Excuse me?” 

Hermione reached across the table to pat his arm. “I’m sure you’ll find a good witch, though. You’ve got a whole three days, after all. And if not, the Ministry will find you a lovely wife.”

Ron’s left eye was twitching and he placed a finger on it to keep himself from strangling his girlfriend. What was she on about? “I am  _ not  _ marrying a ministry-appointed witch. I’m going to marry you! Why on Godric’s Green Quidditch Pitch is that so hard for you to understand?”

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes. You. Are,” he fumed. “I told you to come back when you were ready to apologize and marry me. You’re here, you’ve apologized, now we need to get to the Ministry and get married before they marry me off to Eloise Midgen or some other ugly bint.”

Hermione tossed her hands in the air, he’d clearly pressed some of her buttons again. Ron scowled. Well, good. She deserved to have her buttons pushed after ruining his breakfast like this. 

“The only reason I am here,  _ Ronald Weasley _ ,” Hermione’s voice rose in pitch and he squinted. Gods that woman could screech. “Is because Lucius and Severus offered to help me pick up my stuff so I could move into the Manor.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Right, like I believe Malfoy is upstairs right now with Snape, packing up your knickers and books. When are you going to admit you were wrong and give up this charade?”

“That’s a five-point-word, Mister Weasley,” a deep baritone voice intoned from the kitchen door. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

A second voice, this one not as deep but more pompous, added, “He was bound to learn  _ something _ after hanging around our Hermione all those years.”

One glance at the door told him that Lucius and Snape–did she really call him Severus?–were really at Grimmauld place. Both carried a box tucked under their arms and were looking a little too smug for Ron’s liking. 

For his part, Ron looked practically apoplectic as he stared back and forth between the two wizards standing in the kitchen doorway and a very happy looking Hermione. When Lucius Malfoy readjusted the box under his arm and Snape curled a finger in a come-hither motion at Hermione, Ron realized he must be hallucinating. He had eaten the cereal after the newspaper had been dropped in it and probably some trace poison or something had gotten into it. Who knew where the owl had been? The thought that he was high on something, anything, was only confirmed when Hermione–His Hermione!–all but danced across the floor and into the arms of their former professor. 

When she tilted her face up to accept a kiss, Ron nearly fainted.

There was no way this was happening, he thought as Hermione made appreciative sounds in the back of her throat and returned Snape’s kiss. As she turned her head to allow Lucius to kiss her, Ron shook his head, closing his eyes to the picture and praying that there was no bloody way this was really happening. He opened one eye only to find Lucius Malfoy had his ugly, Death Eater paw on Hermione’s tit as they kissed, her body pressed into Snape’s as though she belonged there, between the two wizards. He glanced down at the discarded newspaper and realized she hadn’t married two wizards. 

She’d married five! How in the hell did that work? It was the last straw for Ron’s overwrought brain and his world descended into darkness. Falling into a dead faint had never felt so good.


End file.
